


Relief

by Miss_Shiva_Adler



Series: Collection of short MOR ficlets [6]
Category: Mozart l'Opera Rock
Genre: Consensual Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Whipping, non-sexual bdsm, primal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Shiva_Adler/pseuds/Miss_Shiva_Adler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frustration and Salieri never go well together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> do not engage in Primal play lightly, be aware of risks and possible limits you may cross by doing so. Always notify the DM during public playing.

He wanted to close his eyes. But that would show that he was becoming more than bothered by the situation. “… _Herr_ Salieri, he will obliterate the beauty of this libretto, your reputation is going to suffer from this…” Some good 10 minutes had passed, now. “… The Viennese court, public and emperor himself are expecting the greatest, you’ve made a foolish decision…” He tried to pay attention to the book in his hands, his pulse quickening bit by bit. “…It’s a calamity, it is clear that the childish play of notes will put the operahouse to shame… ” He glanced at his pupils. They were trying to conceal their annoyance as well. The maestro sat back, exhaling very slowly, calming himself.“… The commission was first given to you, you need to take your responsibilities…” The little man was weaving his cane outwardly, visibly outraged. “It’s scandalous, preposterous! And…” His skin was really pickling and the muscle in his jaw was tensing almost painfully, he wanted to keep his expression blank. “…I will not let this happen !” He was going to lose his control. “…I am in the power to make this all stop, just give me the word and I…”

“Enough,” he didn’t raise his voice and closed the book in his hands, “You keep babbling in circles, Rosenberg.” He slowly looked up to the man, “Yes, I gave Maestro Mozart the libretto _of La scola degli amanti_ , and this, for good reasons. Now will you please leave my office, so I can continue my lesson ? We have a dinner planned on Thursday and we can speak further on that matter in a more private environment, if you so terribly wish doing so.”

The count pursed his lips as if he had eaten a rotten fruit. His hands ticked upon the cane. He and Salieri exchanged meaningful stares. The Italian composer tuned down an urge to smack the hautain look off the politician. He really didn’t take well on disrespect. “Well, if it’s the maestro’s wish,” the snide tone gave Salieri goosebumps, he stretched his neck, ignoring the itch in his knuckles. Keeping his cool was something he always mastered doing. He decided not to reply.

Rosenberg picked up his cane and with another sour glance he left the room, banging the door as loudly as possible. Silence followed, the rant still ringing in everyone’s ears. The Italian composer sighed in frustration and picked up the book to resume his lesson, putting his glasses on. He searched where he had left off.

“Maestro ?” He looked up from the book, inquiring what was instigating this new interruption. Three pair of eyes full of apologies were looking at him. “The hour has passed, we have a fencing lesson,” said Joseph Weigl pointing at his comrade at his left. “And I have to help my mother at the bakery,” added the third student. 

He glanced at the clock on his desk. They were right. “Indeed,” he closed his book again, annoyed that he hadn’t had the time to finish the lesson. “For next week, I want you all to study a violin concerto from maestro Glück and speculate why he used the counterpoint specifically at the place they appear, you may all continue your day along. Thank you for coming and staying. I’ll try not to let us be interrupted again for the next upcoming times, apologies you were to witness this quarrel, even if they are sometimes part of a musician’s life.” The students nodded, acknowledging what he had said. The maestro didn’t feel like smiling, still slightly on edge by the frustration. They left quickly within in the three following minutes.

The door closed and Salieri took off his glasses. He brushed the hair of his bangs out of his face before putting his glasses back on. It felt obnoxiously silent in his music room. He sat down. It was time for dinner but he was not feeling like leaving or interacting with people at all. The clock at the fireplace ticked away. He picked up his satchel and took out the music scores of ‘ _La chiffra_ ’. He was mid the second act, right before the strings joined with the fortepiano at the fourth measure of the new aria he was composing.  He had been interrupted in the middle of writing his set of notes. He read back what he had composed. The strings in basso continuo, leaving space to the flute to come back in solo as a rhythmic set of notes and…

No. It didn’t suit. Nothing suited. It wasn’t harmonic. It wasn’t light. It had no personality. No clarity. He didn’t like it. He just didn’t like it. He flipped to the previous page. Then to the other one. No. No. And No. He sighed in annoyance, it was one of these days again. The ones where his muse disagreed with everything he had written. Exasperated, he discarded the music scores.  He was not going to be able to write or even compose anything today.

He stood up and folded his glasses. He put them in the inside of his breast pocket. He had a sour look at the music sheets of _Ia ciffra_ and collected them. Tomorrow he had a rehearsal with the Viennese grand orchestra, next to the one with the chamber orchestra. He would have to postpone his composing until the next day. Somewhere a headache was forming in his mind. The door opened and Da Ponte waltzed in.

“Maestro Salieri ! I heard there is going to be a new _opfer_ introduced tonight.” Salieri closed his satchel and look up at his colleague. “I’ve had a tiring day, I was thinking of only staying an hour if not less,” replied the composer. Da Ponte looked extremely disappointed, his shoulders slumping but his face was showing understanding. “You indeed look a bit on edge, mind if I join you in your coach ? It will prevent me needing to walk ?” The composer nodded in agreement, even if he wasn’t enthusiastic about sharing his coach with the librettist.

They left the music room engaged in small conversation. Salieri walked without haste, he was not in the mood for anything, the club had been a comfortzone he could get some energy back from, but today he wasn’t sure it would be of any help to him. His ears were still ringing from the count's loud shouts. They got into the coach, Da Ponte barking playfully the address to the driver and they took off.

They entered the main hall, both agreeing to an offered glass of wine. Their coats and any luggage was left behind securely. Salieri sipped his glass once and then put it back on the tray. Not liking the alcoholic drink all that much, he was more an amateur of tea, if not water even more preferably. He just believed this one could relax him a bit.

The couches were all arranged to form a circle, an empty bed was put up as a stage, no blankets, no cushions, and a wooden bedpost enabling any tying up, was all that was needed. Da Ponte checked his pocket watch, muttering they still had quite a lot of time before the show was going to start.

Salieri took off his glasses and crossed his arms over each other; searching for a distraction. His eyes roamed over the crowd, looking for acquaintances, if not for a specific person. Da Ponte cheered almost loudly  “Looks like he is here tonight, maybe you two could…” Salieri tuned the voice of the librettist completely down, locking his eyes with his regular playpartner, if not almost-companion. The tension in his shoulders and temples suddenly came to the front of his consciousness.

He was whispering in the ear of a redheaded woman, caressing her thigh. She was giggling, loudly. The younger man’s eyes then switched focus, boring his gaze into Salieri’s. The Italian maestro exhaled through his nose. The younger man was challenging him, his brown eyes gleaming with wildness. He had a very obnoxious day and honestly he could use the relaxation the prodigy composer was offering.

He let go. In a few steps he was in front of the couple. Mozart retracted himself from the woman’s body. Salieri grabbed his wrist, the woman yelped, Salieri dragged the younger composer behind him. Mozart fought back, clawing at his wrist, groaning.

The older man flew open the door of an empty room, the only thought of beating up the prodigy composer in his mind, wanting to show where his place was. There was only a single person couch. He entered and threw Mozart against it. He turned himself and was satisfied to see a key in the lock. The younger man flew toward Salieri, who was able to close them in before he was pushed against the door. His head hitting the door hard, a body pressed against his, an erection rubbing itself against his arse. The pain stung hard upon his head, making his anger flare even more. He clawed at the prodigy composer’s hair, tugging as hard as he could and destabilising the younger man. Mozart whimpered and bared his teeth, the rush and adrenaline rising in his veins as Salieri turned himself toward him, taking advantage of his loosened grip. He looked the Italian composer into the eyes, defiance clearly visible on his features.

Salieri snapped, tugging the head of the prodigy composer backwards. He bit the flesh of the neck, the younger man whimpered of pleasure as the older man was forcing them backwards. He was losing it, but not quite giving up yet, he kneed the erection of the Italian composer. Salieri released the flesh in surprise, the younger man had missed so he raised his fist to collide it with the other man’s jaw.

Mozart's teeth clashed painfully against each other and he growled as he staggered backwards. The heat underneath his skin was palpable, his eyes not quite seeing white yet. He wanted to fight him, ravage him, hurt him. The black hair of the Italian composer was almost completely undone and the hairlocks were not even hiding the wild eyes Salieri was currently possessing. A shiver of excitement or pleasure ran through the younger man’s spine, his mind gone; he only felt himself and his instinct. He lashed out at the Italian composer again. The older man resisted and didn’t budge as Mozart took him by the collar of his shirt. The brooch got ripped off by the aggressive movement.

Salieri bared his teeth and his hands flew toward the hair of the Austrian composer, tugging at the locks once. Mozart didn’t react verbally this time, he just undid the buttons of the older man’s shirt, knowing it could have given him an advantage that he now wouldn’t take.

Nails dug into the first layers of flesh. The Italian composer growled, the heat of pain overwhelming his senses as he shuddered. His mouth watered. Anger rose. He was forced on the ground by the other man’s weight. His grip on the scalp bringing the Austrian composer down on his knees with him. In a groan Mozart’s legs collided with the floor. The younger man took the lapels of the other man’s shirt but a hand grabbed his wrist mid movement and teeth dug into the spot underneath his ear. It hurt and an actual cry escaped his lips as the hand fisting his hair brought him further down to the ground. He started kicking, trying to free himself, the hand pressed his head against the floor, he was on his side. The mouth of the older man left his neck. Salieri straddled him and the younger man fought back with all his strength, trying to get the Italian composer off his body. The older man grabbed his jaw, pushing on the junctures; the prodigy composer’s mouth fell open, a groan of pleasure escaped his lips. Salieri turned Mozart’s face toward him, relishing in the dilated pupils he was seeing. He lowered himself, growling in the younger man’s ears, a feeling of satisfaction settling down inside of him. Mozart then turned his body, almost throwing the other man off him. His free hand tried to grab the throat of the older man, he failed. He scratched the throat before both of his wrists were pinned down above his head. He kicked, he tried to break free, he groaned. The older man wouldn’t budge.

After what felt like a minute the younger man gave up, accepting defeat; accepting that he turned into the prey this time. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Their breathings were ragged and lungs were aching. Salieri could have had a smug smile on his face, but he didn’t, he felt more at peace than he had been the whole day. The physical act had made him calm down completely and he felt liberated from his frustration. He released the younger man’s wrists and stood up, taking their playing to another level. Mozart stayed on the floor, looking at the ceiling, waiting for instructions. He felt his shoulder sting.

“Get undressed.”

The order was plain and simple; Mozart complied, undressing as swiftly as he could. Salieri took his glasses out of his pocket, somewhere glad they didn’t break. He put them on and looked at the undressing younger man, the muscles of the back fascinating him. Mozart was folding his clothes, his nudity wasn’t bothering him the slightest. Salieri smiled to himself, liking the view. He opened the drawer of the room and searched through it for something with which he’d like to mark the prodigy composer’s body.

The younger man shivered as he positioned his shoes next to the folded clothes. The drawer of this room contained various whips and ropes. He wondered what the Italian composer had in store for him. He raised himself, turning himself around to face his Dominant. Salieri was inspecting the plain riding crop. Mozart couldn’t suppress a smile. He knew the older man would only choose his favourite, especially since he had a concert tomorrow, it was very kind of him to not have chosen the cane. The Italian composer eyed him over the rim of His glasses: “The floor will be suitable for today.” His voice felt like a warm liquid being poured over him, anticipation tenderly licking at his being. Goosebumps prickled his skin. He turned himself again and went to his knees. Hands in front of him.

“Lower,” said Salieri. Mozart sunk to his elbows, his face against the carpet. The soft leather caressed his rear. His back. Between his thighs, which he spread slightly further. His calves, his arms, his head and cheek. It then left him. The first blow on his right rear cheek was hard and a pained moan escaped the younger man’s lips as his body jolted. It looked like Salieri wasn’t going to start lightly. A blow on his left rear cheek, a softer one, made him buck again. Another swiftly followed just above. He moaned as the stinging pain covered his buttocks when the riding crop made contact again. He relaxed his muscles. The sound of the impacts echoed through the room. Salieri switched hands, positioning himself better. Mozart panted heavily as he felt the leather caressing his upper legs, to his thigh. The sharp blow made his whole body shiver and jerk, he couldn’t keep in a scream.  Another one and his tears broke out.

The tip of the riding crop travelled again, giving him space to breathe, to recover. His rear was prickling. He bucked himself against the leather as it caressed up his spine. His blood was rushing, he was feeling so well. It was softer, gentler, but it clashed against his skin nevertheless when Salieri aimed his shoulder blades. He whimpered. “Down.” Without knowing he had raised himself upon his hands, pain was stinging in his shoulder by the abrupt movement he hadn’t even realised he had done. The carpet was digging into his knees.  But on the command he laid his face next to his hands again. Obeying without thinking. Salieri stood next to him and a soft blow landed between his shoulder blades. He groaned contently, it was making him feel peaceful. The sound echoed through the room once more. He moaned.

The Italian composer switched the riding crop from one hand to the other again. His body started to shake. “A few more ?” Salieri’s voice was low and deep. “Yes… please… hard.” He stammered difficultly. There was silence. He screamed. Sweat broke from his entire body as he older man inflicted 3 hard blows with the full extended length of the riding crop against his rear. His body shuddered as his mind was shouting that he wouldn’t be able to stand more; the pain being more than what he had anticipated. His whole body felt enveloped by the aching, at the same time comforted and panicked, also trusting that it would end here.

There was nothing; just their breathing and presence in the room. Then Salieri’s body relaxed as well, “You did good, I’m proud of you,” a truthful tone coating his voice. Mozart’s face broke into a smile, feeling the flutters of happiness inside his being. “Thank you” he whispered as he let himself slump on the floor. His knees were tingling because he had been holding the same crouched position for so long. Relief washed over him as he felt himself float into the clouds of calmness.

The Italian composer laid down the riding crop against the couch and sat down on it. He was feeling himself come down from another mindspace. Relaxation washed over him. All his body tension was gone. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, looking at the reactions of the younger man. He took off his glasses while doing so.

“You really strained my shoulder muscle,” Mozart said, breaking the new silence; his cheek still touched the floor. The older man put his glasses back into his pocket. “Will you still be able to play?” Salieri’s voice clearly transpired concern.

The younger man laughed softly and he turned himself to lie on his side. His muscles protested energetically. “I believe I’ll manage.” His head was still half in the clouds. Salieri got up and took a blanket from underneath the drawer. He came back and draped it over the other man’s frame.  He sat down cross-legged next to the prodigy composer.

“Rosenberg came by today, raging about the libretto I decided to pass on to you.” Mozart chuckled as he opened his eyes to look at the older man, who laid his hand upon the Austrian composer’s head. “I’m not surprised, he acts like a vulture whenever something doesn’t suit him in the happenings of the Viennese court.” He relished from the fingers intertwining with his hair. “You are right. I have, however, told him we could discuss the matter later,” said Salieri with a sour tone, clearly unhappy with his own decision. “It’s your reputation and your art that is ‘threatened’, he’s concerned. Perhaps it’s not so awful if you give him your reasons. It is better than him spreading rumours.” The older man sighed. The younger man was once more right again. He looked at the brown eyes that always gave him the peace he was seeking. “Are you willing to spend the night at my house tonight ? We’ve been pretty busy lately and I haven’t gotten the chance to see you as often as I wish.” Mozart reached over toward the Italian composer’s hand. He laced their fingers.

“Gladly.”

The end 

**Author's Note:**

> Idea of the story comes from a friend


End file.
